


Until next time

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confession, Deviates at 4x2, F/M, Fluff and Feels, Hopeful Ending, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 12:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20564246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: "But you love him..."Cersei's accurate judgement leaves Brienne stunned. What she is not prepared for, however, is a subsequent conversation with Jaime.





	Until next time

**Author's Note:**

> More of my earlier season fluff and what-if scenarios. Enjoy and thanks for reading!

_ But you love him… _

She couldn't budge, nor could she look away, gazing wordlessly at the queen mother as she tried to take in the effect of her words. _ It’s a big damn lie, _she convinced herself, certain that Cersei had completely misunderstood her. She had erred in her judgement, making a hasty assumption with no solid basis nor evidence to support her stand.

“Your grace,” she managed after a while, saying no more than that, wishing to stay there no more. Keen to avert the queen’s penetrating glare, she was, to escape the feast and to never set foot in her presence again. 

_ I don’t love him. _

Her burning cheeks and her sweaty palms, however, refrained from agreeing with her firm conclusion, putting up a resistance and building up a counter argument, setting up a war between her heart and her logical self, trying hard to suggest that Cersei had made an accurate guess. She wanted to deny, to assert to the queen that she was utterly and absolutely wrong, but her tongue refused to cooperate, doing its bit in contributing to the losing battle she was putting up with the preposterous deductions her heart and her subconscious self were jumping into.

She turned around, wanting nothing more than to get away from this painful moment, hoping she'd soon be able to quell this unexpected internal conflict she’d never known she would encounter.

But little did she know she’d find herself directly in _his_ line of vision. The target of his vision, if she were to put it precisely.

She was reduced to stone, and so was he, their eyes latched on to each other, the world around her fading into oblivion, everything else ceasing to exist but for the two of them. The look he shot her across the distance was loaded with unspoken thoughts, most of them unfathomable, the uncertainty of what was truly hidden beneath the exterior he wore, leaving her far more unsettled than his sister's attempt to intimidate her. Mild apprehension, she could find in his eyes, and questions there were too, all the confusion her mind was riddled with, just speculation except for the one firm truth she knew for sure about him.

One that was set in stone. That his heart belonged to none but one, the solitary occupant it housed, permanent in her residence, never to let go of him.

_ Cersei. _ She was his, and he was hers. And nothing would change that.

She looked away, squirming under the intensity of his gaze, unable to face him any more, unwilling to come to terms with the impact the last few minutes had left her reeling under. Little did she know, when she’d set out on the mission Lady Catelyn had sent her on, that she’d grow to form an attachment to the man she’d sworn to despise. Her mind miles away and her knees unsteady, she rushed out of there, wanting only to seek refuge behind the closed doors of her room where no one would haunt her. Not Cersei. Not him.

_ I don’t love him... _

She kept repeating the same four words inside her head, as if telling herself over and over again would make it come true and calm the storm within her. She stepped away from the singing and dancing and celebration, craving for a few moments of peace, hoping she could, at the earliest, take Sansa and leave this damned city. Her mind beyond her control, she knew not who she bumped into on the way, stopping for nothing and no one, keeping up a brisk pace, and it was only when she found herself indoors did she stop and breathe.

_ I don’t love him. I haven’t been thinking about him. I don’t want to ever see him again. _

“Lady Brienne.”

For the second time today, she found her ability to use her legs hindered, this time his voice the culprit, the way her name rolled off his tongue enough to leave her as ruffled as a bumbling maiden of ten and six. Having no courage nor the willpower to face him, she advanced, not daring to turn around, careful not to let his eyes dominate her senses again.

“Brienne,” he called again, and this time his tone was frantic, beseeching her to stop and lend him an ear.

And this time she conceded, her breathing getting heavier as she halted, apprehensive of a conversation with him.

_ He doesn’t love me. I don’t love him. Then why is he here? _

She stood with her back to him, but she could sense every bit of him behind her, for such was the power the man held on her. His scent, his presence anywhere within a foot or two of her was enough to set her heart aflutter.

“Look at me, Brienne.”

She slowly turned, rapidly scanning her brain for an excuse suitable to explain her abrupt exit. “Ser Jaime, I’m unwell, I need to--”

“I know why you left.” The same intense look was back in his eyes - searching her heart, reading her mind and delving into the depths of her soul. “What did Cersei talk to you about?”

“She asked about Renly,” said Brienne, revealing only the part of the truth that was convenient enough to be disclosed to him.

He took a step forward. “And?”

She gulped. Him standing so close to her wasn’t something she thought she’d have to face. “Lady Catelyn as well,” she mumbled, providing him with another fragment of the conversation.

His voice was now down to a cracked whisper. “What else did she say, my lady?” His chest was barely a foot away from hers, and their faces just inches apart. With the wall behind her, she had nowhere to go, no means of escape.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice oddly squeaky.

“You’re good at many things, Brienne, but lying is one thing you can never manage,” he said, in the same hoarse voice. “You’re too straightforward for it.”

His breath spread across every pore of her exposed skin, setting her face and neck on fire, and she hoped the ground beneath her would split and swallow her, for that seemed to be the only way out of this predicament. “I didn’t--”

“Was she asking about me?” he demanded, coming directly to the point.

Suddenly dizzy, she leaned against the wall for support, the tension and turmoil within her mounting with every passing second, her poor heart threatening to cave in under the pressure it was being subjected to. 

“Tell me, my lady,” he went on, when she continued to maintain silence. “Did she ask you if you--”

“It doesn’t matter what she thinks. I _ don’t _ love you,” she cried, the distress within her exploding this time, her heart unable to withstand the swelling stress anymore. Once she’d blurted out her futile denial, she dropped her gaze, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

He touched her chin, gently raising her face. “Don’t you?” he softly asked.

“No,” she continued to maintain a defiant stand.

He smiled, a smile so charming that it left her weak in the knees. When he slid his fingers along her neck and down her shoulder, the mere brush of his skin on hers sparked unfamiliar, yet pleasurable sensations within her. “You are, indeed, a terrible liar, wench,” he remarked, linking his fingers in hers.

She gulped down her feelings and emotions and put on a stoic face, hoping her voice was composed when she went on, knowing Cersei would always stand firm between them. “It doesn’t matter, it's my problem,” she repeated, this time in a much softer, more emotional tone that made her feelings blatantly obvious.

“The only problem here is the inability to face the truth, Brienne.”

His response troubled her even more. How dare he confront her when he had every intention to spend the rest of his life with Cersei? “Why do you bother? You’re never going to--”

“It bothers me as much as it bothers you, wench,” he intervened, enveloping her in a mesmerising gaze. “And it matters. To me. Maybe it began when we first met, I do not know, not exactly when--” he paused, the corners of his ears reddening. “I--I hope you understand what I mean.” When he'd composed himself, he tilted his face closer to hers. “I never thought it would take someone like Loras Tyrell to point me in the direction of my heart.”

Her heart soared and she wanted to laugh out loud, she wanted to sing, to tell the world that she was in love, but luck had never yet favoured her when it came to men and the life she truly craved for, so all she could manage in return for his confession was a guarded silence, lest this might be a dream.

“Say something,” he implored, his eyes pouring out all his feelings into hers. “Curse me, or kiss me or call me a liar.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm again. “I intend to do none of that.”

“A kiss, at least?” he hopefully suggested, his lips hovering dangerously over hers.

Her heart ceased to beat and she’d forgotten how to breathe. “Someone might see.”

“Everyone’s out at the feast,” he pointed out, inching closer. “We’re the only ones--”

As much as she wished for this more than anything else, she playfully pushed him away, carving herself an escape route. “Some other time,” she promised him with a coy smile. “We have to go. People might miss our presence out there.”

When she turned on her heel, he caught her wrist and pulled her into his arms, taking her by surprise. “For now,” he said, kissing her hand, his lips lingering on every finger as he gazed upon her with eyes full of longing, “until we meet again for a proper kiss and _ more _.” 

Reluctantly relinquishing his hold on her, he retreated, ready to make his way back to the feast, but something told her to stop him, to push away her inhibitions and act on what she’d been wanting to do. 

“Ser Jaime,” she called, and before her courage could diminish, she leaned into him and pressed her lips on his. Throwing all discretion out of the window, she gave herself to him, allowing herself the feel of his touch. Skin met skin once more when she touched his cheek, the sensation of his lips on hers completely overwhelming and exhilarating, the realization of what a man felt like only now dawning upon her. 

“Until next time,” she whispered against his mouth. “Until we meet again for a proper kiss and more.”


End file.
